(no subject)
My eyes close softly, and I shake my head hard. No, not now. A little while longer.
My hands slip, shaking.
I should have gotten more sleep. Then all this waiting wouldn't matter at all.
I flick the lights to bright. If I can't trust my eyes normally, at very least I can try and help them out.
Poor bastard eyes, they burn hard.
I should find out what's keeping me up. I mean, it could be anything. Force of habit? In all fairness, I've been staying up until, what, six in the wee morn?
Damn you, Yugi-oh!
Maybe I've been over thinking my sleep away? I mean, I don't remember what I think, but I know I think it. Hell, maybe I'm finding solutions. What if I am?! Then I'm losing them all!
I should write things down more.
My eyes begin burning again, a deep, subtle burn. I have to close them. And I do.
The grip slips from my hand.
Metal scrapes hard.
A bang.
I feel my back hit the ground hard and skid along the cement, the blood flowing easily from the smoking wound.
The gun is inches from my hand, but there's no way to grab it. I spit the crushed ciggerete, I suppose I'm protesting, but at this point I have no idea.
The worst of it? The bastard didn't even pump a second one into me, much less another smoke.
The best? No more Yugi.